


Gratitude

by Familiar_to_Myself



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cowgirl, Cunnilingus, Deadlock Gang, Dominance, Drunken Shenanigans, Femdom, Genderless, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Queening, Reader-Insert, Rough Oral Sex, facesitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21714004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Familiar_to_Myself/pseuds/Familiar_to_Myself
Summary: Ashe asks that one of her subordinates properly thank her for her hard work amidst a stint of good fortune for the Deadlock Gang.
Relationships: Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe & Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Gratitude

“Oh, screw it,” you groan before letting the dart fly from your hand. It sails through the dim, smoke-filled air of the hideout, arcing and landing smack in the middle of former Deadlock gang member Jesse McCree’s forehead. 

Well, a  _ picture  _ of his forehead, anyway. The tattered photograph of McCree pinned to the dartboard is pocked with holes from previous games. The eyes are almost completely poked out, and someone has taken a permanent marker to the photo to black out a few of the teeth in the image’s cocksure grin. Unfortunately for you, McCree’s forehead isn’t the bullseye. That honor goes to the wandering outlaw’s nose. You just lost this game. 

“Ha! You’ve had too much, partner!” Zeke guffaws, clapping a hand onto your shoulder and shaking you. “Finally,  _ you _ get to buy  _ me _ a drink for a change!”

He steers you by your shoulder through the chaos of the party over to the Deadlock hideout’s “newly refurbished” bar. You and the rest of the gang used to drink whatever swill you could score, sitting on barrels and resting dirty glasses and mugs on a wooden plank lying across two crates. Nowadays though? Things are looking up, and the ramshackle hideout is getting some new furnishments. A gorgeous bar of reclaimed chestnut wood now sits by the far wall, the old grubby bar plank reduced to splinters in the junkheap out back. Vintage brass barstools with stately cushions of green leather stand lined up in front. Behind is the gargantuan Omnic, B.O.B., adjusting bottles on shelves and polishing the bartop with impeccable precision. 

B.O.B., in fact, is whom you have to thank for the luxurious new drinking spot. Following a particularly successful heist, Ashe had treated the gang to a rambunctious night in an upscale restaurant. After Ashe found out that the restaurateur was eavesdropping and hoping to sell information to a growing gang down in Mexico, she had B.O.B. rip the man’s prized bar clean out of the floor and smash his way out of the front wall as if it were a battering ram. Back at the hideout, B.O.B. planted the bar by the wall as if had always belonged there, and the celebrations continued. 

Reasons to celebrate are easy to come by lately for you and the rest of the Deadlock Gang. Protection money is flowing in steadily, intel on the most valuable hypertrain shipments never escapes the gang’s ears, and new members are integrating into your ranks faster than you can count. The Deadlock Gang is on top of the world, so who cares if you have to foot a drink after a botched darts bet with Zeke? 

You ask B.O.B. to get Zeke whatever he wants, and one for you, in the most polite tone you can manage despite the buzz that’s already addling your brain. B.O.B. has become quite proprietary of the bar since stealing it. He seems content to have something to attend to besides your gang’s leader, and keeps everything tidy and organized down to the nanometer. Rambunctious parties and sloppy messes are far from uncommon around the hideout, but anyone who messed with B.O.B.’s bar would be sent flying through the air by the massive robot. 

He slides two mugs of frothing beer across the bar, and you and Zeke toast to the gang’s latest victories and spoils. As you lift your mug and sip from it while Zeke throws his head back in a sloppy chug, you notice a shot glass of brown alcohol on the bar right behind where your glass previously sat. Had B.O.B. slipped it to you alongside your beer? His huge hands could be surprisingly nimble. You set down the beer and sniff the shot, and the scent of brown sugar, leather, and spices floods your nostrils. In front of you is a shot of some  _ damn _ good whiskey. Instantly you want to gulp it, but you restrain yourself and instead wave for B.O.B.’s attention.

“You givin’ me this, B.O.B.? What for?” you ask. B.O.B. isn’t known to give handouts very often.

The gigantic Omnic gestures to himself and shakes his head, then points with two fingers to the door in the far corner of the hideout. 

The door that opens down the back hallway and into Ashe’s office. 

“Uh, Ashe gave me…?” you begin to say, but B.O.B. has already turned his broad back to you and returned to categorizing his bottles. 

You make to show Zeke the shot, but he has spun around on his stool to strike up a drunken conversation with someone behind him. Your eyes dart back and forth between the glass and the door. Then you gulp it down and head for the back. 

The hallway is long, with the sleeping quarters through a doorway on the right and the bathrooms after that. Even farther down is the door to Ashe’s office. You’ve actually never been inside. Whether Ashe is out drinking the gang under the table or inside meeting with clandestine business partners or informants, the door to Ashe’s office is always kept tightly shut. Now that nothing stands between you and the door it feels more formidable than ever, but a renewed buzz from the whiskey makes you bold.

You suck in a breath and knock twice.

“C’mon in,” Ashe calls almost immediately, the drawl in her voice confident and clear even through the thick wood. 

You turn the knob and step inside, feet padding on a soft, ornate carpet. Ashe’s office is lit with dim, amber light, ceiling lamps set low. There’s a display case against the lefthand wall, trophies for skeet shooting and trapshooting gleaming behind the glass. Ashe sits at her desk in the center of the back wall, her red eyes almost glowing like coals in smoke. Her snow-colored hair swishes as she tips her head at the door, signalling you to close it behind you. The noise of the carousing outside falls away completely and it’s just the two of you sealed in the office. An ornate grandfather clock in the corner of the room ticks as if to prevent an uncomfortable silence. You count seven seconds that seem to stretch on forever before finally speaking.

“You, ah, you wanted to see me, Ashe?” Your mouth feels tight, the spice of the whiskey still biting at the back of your throat.

“I certainly did,” she replies, motioning to one of two chairs situated in front of her desk. 

As you lower yourself into the empty chair you notice Ashe’s long, gray duster and wide-brimmed hat resting in the other, not carefully hung on the coat tree by the door as they usually are. Ashe leans with an elbow on the armrest of her own chair, her pressed white shirt unbuttoned at the top and her smart red tie loosened. A bottle of fine whiskey stands on the desk, uncapped. Ashe seems to have been toasting the gang’s success here by herself. The faint waft of spice in the air tells you this is the same whiskey from your shot. Her red lips curl upwards as you sit.

“Is there...something you need ma’am?” you ask before the clock can take over the quiet office again.

“‘Ma’am’,” she repeats with a small laugh. “I like that. Yes, I  _ do _ need something. I needed to ask you about how you were enjoyin’ yourself. You havin’ a good time out there?”

You’re a bit confused, but it’s best not to keep Ashe waiting for an answer.

“Well sure, Ashe,” you say with a smile that you hope seems sincere rather than placating. “It’s great. We’re on top of the world. We--”

“So you remember who brought these spoils rolling in?” she muses, wrapping a hand around the neck of the bottle. “You know who puts whiskey in your glass?”

Ashe swigs from the bottle and licks her lips. That whiskey can’t be cheap, but gulping it straight feels like just another part of Ashe’s style. She thunks the bottle back down onto the desk. A tattoo of thorny rose vines snakes across the pale skin of her forearm. Letters encircling a winged skull read  _ Deadlock Rebel _ . 

Those eyes burn into you again.

“Oh, uh, ‘course I do,” you blurt out. “It’s all you, Ashe. You’re always hustling, and getting us jobs, and holding us together even when things go sideways.”

The crimson fire in Ashe’s eyes goes from threatening to inviting as you speak, and her smile grows larger and more satisfied bit by bit. Her gaze becomes something else entirely, something that almost looks hungry. 

"'S very nice of you to say," Ashe answers. "This is why I've always liked you. You know the score. You know how to respect your betters. Be grateful." 

You grip your knees anxiously. Is she patronizing you? Calling you a suckup? People have to choose their words very carefully around Ashe, or they’ll find themselves shot in the blink of an eye like a duelist whose trigger finger was woefully slow. A display stand to the left of Ashe holds her infamous and deadly rifle, the Viper. The dark metal of the gun is shadowlike in the low light.

"Th-thank you, ma'am. I appre--" 

"I called you in here," she interrupts, her voice louder than before and squashing yours beneath it. "Because drinkin' alone is a poor way to celebrate."

"You...you want me to drink with you?" you ask. "--Ma'am?"

Ashe's hungry smile and blazing eyes go even brighter. 

"What I want…"

She gestures with a finger for you to leave your seat and circle around to her side of the desk. Your knees feel like jelly as you stand, and the floor creaks with each shaky step as you comply and wind up standing next to Ashe while she sits.

"Is for you…" Ashe spins her chair to face you. Your eyes grow wide as you realize Ashe isn't wearing anything from the waist down. Her white shirt drapes into her lap, resting on long, tight thighs with knees together. She stabs a finger down at the floor in front of her.

"To thank me."

Ashe spreads her legs wide with her hands on her knees, leaning forward expectantly. Your mouth drops open in surprise, and despite yourself, in awe. Elizabeth Caledonia “Calamity” Ashe, leader of the Deadlock Gang and ruthless scourge of the American Southwest, is sitting in front of you and demanding gratitude in the form of a proposition. You’ve always held Ashe in high regard, but in the sort of high regard one might have for a snake gliding and coiling behind a flimsy pane of glass. She’s beautiful, statuesque, capable of powerful words and terrifying violence. Ashe spat out the silver spoon she was born with and rode off on a devastating hunt for what she wanted. Now she wants you.

Who are you to say no to a viper?

“How should I thank you?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Ashe reaches out and grasps your shoulder, her thumb pressing inward at the base of your neck. You can still breathe, but every minute movement Ashe makes as she pulls you closer feels tempered with restraint. At any moment, she could tighten her hand and crush the life out of you. Ashe’s eyes gleam in satisfaction as she guides you into a kneeling position before her and brings your head between her legs. Her scent fills your nose and you can see that she’s already dripping wet. 

“I think you get my meaning,” she says plainly.

With her hand still on your neck and shoulder, you lean until you’re within an inch of Ashe’s pussy. The air of the office seems to shimmer with heat as you open your mouth and run the tip of your tongue upwards along her opening and inner lips. Ashe is wet, and sweet, and ready. She lets out a deep, humming moan and shifts her hand from your shoulder to the center of your back to press you closer. The motion is emboldening, almost affectionate, and it spurs you to flatten your tongue for long, slow licks from the very bottom all the way to the top of Ashe’s lips. You reach the tiny bead of her clit and drag your tongue across it even more slowly, and Ashe’s thighs spread wider as she shoves you harder inward, burying you between them. You let your tongue lay on her clit, then seal your lips around it and suck. Ashe breathes in with a hiss, throwing her head back before slumping forward again and chuckling.

“Talented mouth you got there,” she says, barely above a whisper. 

Ashe’s hand grips a handful of the back of your shirt, her black-polished nails digging into your skin as she pins you between her legs. It’s getting a bit hard to breathe, but between the pressure of her hand at your back, her intoxicating taste, and her long, strong thighs holding you in place, there’s nowhere to go. You resist and pull back a bit, only to be met by a firm, unmoving hand at your back. You’re trapped here, being used by your terrifying, cruel, gorgeous boss. Ashe’s words play over and over in your head as you tend to her:  _ Thank me _ . She’s toying with you, commanding you to worship her and tend to her as more than just a lackey. It’s like you’re something she owns, that owes her devotion instead of just loyalty. You lick and suck at Ashe’s clit, keeping a steady rhythm as she begins to grind herself more forcefully against your tongue. You thank her, and thank her, and thank her.

Ashe’s hand leaves your back and seizes a handful of your hair, gripping it close to the scalp. It doesn’t hurt, but Ashe doesn’t need to hurt you right now to control you. It actually feels comforting as Ashe steers your head, her firm, guiding hand aiming your eager tongue right where she needs it. The dim lethargy of your drunkenness fades away. Instead a sort of giddy, warm joy is ballooning inside your chest. Every movement and tug Ashe makes on your hair bolsters your energy. You lick faster, you plant kisses on her thighs and lips, and you growl with the same hunger that you saw behind Ashe’s eyes. Ashe gives a throaty moan, like someone indulging a craving they’ve been nursing for days. 

“Mmm. From how you’re workin’ me, I think you know how much you belong down there.”

She parts her legs just a bit and tilts your head up to face her, hair still gripped like it’s in a trap. Ashe’s face looms above you, leaning over the crisp linen of her shirt and smirking. 

“You enjoying this? Being put  _ right where you belong _ and using that mouth to thank your generous leader?”

You can barely even hear what she’s saying, ears practically sealed between her thighs, but you give a nod. Ashe’s smile widens to show a bit of teeth. 

“Then tell me how much you like this,” she growls as she yanks you away from her pussy and holds you at arm’s length, still by the scruff of hair.

She presses her other hand against the center of your chest, lets go of your hair, and slowly pushes you backward. You tip back in your kneeling position, eventually toppling over onto your back on the hardwood. Ashe lifts herself up and kicks the chair backwards, leaning over you and putting her whole weight onto the hand against your chest. You gasp as she pushes against you to stand to her full height, towering high over you with pale legs planted on either side of your body, hands on hips with that same satisfied smile. Like she’s looking at a favorite trophy in a cabinet. 

After a moment of letting you take in the sight, Ashe gets on one knee with her pussy just above your face. You crane your head upward at her as if acting on instinct, trying to continue servicing her, longing for the taste. As your head drops back down in failure, Ashe falls onto both her knees, straddling your head but remaining out of reach. Her weight on your chest pins you hard.

“How’s that feel, hm?” she calls down to you mockingly, again seizing a handful of hair but keeping her distance otherwise.

“It feels good,” you say softly, feeling comforted to have her hand back in control and tugging your scalp.

In a flash the gentle tugging on your hair strengthens as Ashe tightens her grip. 

“It feels good,  _ what _ ?” she rasps, sneering.

“It...It feels good,  _ ma’am _ .”

“Better.” 

The hair pull loosens, again becoming a disciplined, constant grip. Ashe lowers her body, planting herself on your chest as easily as she might saddle up on her motorcycle. Her firm ass settles atop you and she wriggles her hips in satisfaction. You can feel her dripping hot onto your chest.

“I can feel your heart pounding,” she says. “Maybe it’s really me who’s doing you a favor here. You might just have to thank me again and again and  _ again _ .” 

Her free hand snakes its way down to your crotch and squeezes. She’s right about everything. The ache in your scalp, Ashe’s weight on top of you, her demands, her pussy in need of attention, all of it has been winding you up since the second this all began. Your eyes roll back as Ashe strokes you through your pants.

“Mhmmmm,” you half-moan, half answer.

Her whisper is as coarse as the desert sands. “Then get back to work.”

Hand still rubbing over and over on your crotch, Ashe slides forward and presses her pussy against your mouth. You attack it like you’ve been starving for days, sucking up her taste and moaning against her. The vibrations make Ashe pull your head closer. She shudders and grinds against your tongue. Every sound you make for her feels like a chance to prove yourself. To prove you’re thankful. To prove you’re  _ hers _ . That she was right to put you here. That you’ve never felt so at home as you do now, pinned beneath her and being told what to do and where to suck and where to kiss.

Before you can stop yourself, both your hands shoot up and grab Ashe’s ass. The tense muscles flex under your fingers as you pull her forward and bury your face deeper into her. Ashe barks out a laugh between satisfied gasps and screws her grip on your crotch tighter in kind.

“Make sure you behave yourself,” she chokes out. 

But she doesn’t move your hands away from her ass. It only makes you work harder. You grip her hips and feel like you’re losing yourself between her thighs. Every inch of your world is covered in her skin, sweet with her juices. 

Ashe slumps over you now, her breathing ragged and throaty. Her hand runs wild through your hair. There’s less grabbing and steering, now it’s playful and tender. She tugs, curls, runs her fingers through your hair as if she doesn’t know what else to do. She massages your scalp as if rewarding an obedient pet for good behavior, murmuring something to herself that you can’t hear as her thighs envelop your ears.

The fingers of Ashe’s other hand are still clenching your pulsing crotch like a vice, her thumb rubbing across it over and over and over to send electric pleasure crackling through your body. Your entire world is bound tight between Ashe’s legs, beneath her fingers, but it’s getting closer and closer to exploding like dynamite. Your brain feels like it’s swimming in a scalding bath. Bits of yourself that you don’t need anymore, your exhaustion, your hesitations, your inhibitions, evaporate and drift away. All you need is this woman, your mouth to make her moan and buck, and her hands to return the favor.

You suck Ashe’s clit hard and deep, and the ecstatic tightness that has lashed you and Ashe together grows stronger still. Her thighs and pussy tense so hard that you feel like her muscles will snap like suspension wire and slice you to ribbons. Ashe’s dazed mutterings turn to desperate, staccato gasps and howling moans. 

“DON’T--YOU-- _ DARE STOP! _ ” she grunts before she throws her head back, screaming to the ceiling. 

Ashe’s hips quake around you as she cums against your mouth. She lets out a rapturous howl that rings out into the desert night before plummeting down into a low, throaty growl of satisfaction. Her orgasm rumbles through your body with the deep hum of her voice, pulsing below your waist and sending you over the edge. Your release blooms beneath her hand, and she loosens her grip as if she were letting go while dangling you off a cliff. You fall slowly and dizzily into it. Where before they bound you like leather reins, Ashe’s hard-strung thighs and vice grip now seem to soften and bear you down like a safety harness. The ruffling of her hand in your hair is downright affectionate now as she curls your locks through her fingers..

Your surroundings swim and then gradually solidify back into view, starting with the pinpricks of fire blazing in Ashe’s eyes. Her shirt is drenched with sweat, clinging to her lithe curves as you lift your hands from her ass and gently clasp her waist. Her white hair swings from side to side as she slowly shakes her head at you, a wry smirk on her crimson lips.

“I’ll hand it to you,” she says quietly. “I ain’t had a ride like that in ages. You know how to thank a lady who’s done right by you.”

All you can do is swallow, your mouth and cheeks slick with her juices. Ashe pulls her hand away from your pants, feeling the traces of your orgasm on her palm. She touches a fingertip to her tongue and smiles before roughly wiping the rest off on your shirt.

“Looks like we both had ourselves quite an enjoyable time tonight. We’ll have to do this again.”

You nod much more eagerly and frantically than you mean to, making her chuckle. Your brain still buzzes even as she eases herself off your chest and stands back to her full height. She doesn’t offer a hand to help you up. Instead she sinks back into her dampened office chair with a sigh and crosses one long leg over the other. Her arms drape easily over the armrests as if she were in a throne. You stand up, shaky and uncertain. The entire chest of your shirt, as well as the front of your pants, are soaked with sweat and sex. You’re still fully clothed, but something about standing before Ashe now makes you feel naked. She controls every inch of you. One look from those viper eyes and you’d drop to your knees again in a heartbeat. Ashe smiles like she knows exactly that and grabs the whiskey bottle from her desk. 

“Go get yourself cleaned up,” she says after a sip. “Everyone outside must be missing you.”

“Yeah...ah, yes ma’am,” speaking clearly again at last feels strange, like something about your voice has changed.

You pad toward the door and grasp the knob. The sound of cheering erupts from the other side, loud enough to even be heard here in the back. You can feel her eyes at your back like laser sights, and you turn around once more. 

“Sounds like quite a party out there,” Ashes muses after another sip, tipping backward in her chair and turning the bottle in her hand.

“It sure does, ma’am,” you answer, hand still on the knob. “Thank you for it.”

“You’re welcome,” Ashe purrs.

You turn the knob and step out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please take care, tell me what you think, and always remember the magic words!


End file.
